


Winging It

by DementedPixie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Dean and Sam look after Castiel, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:06:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie





	

Angels don’t ‘whimper’. Angels explode with an ear splitting roar whilst stabbing their prey through the heart. They burn their enemies eyes out if they dare to look upon them. They are fierce, intense and definitely not to be messed with. 

Castiel knew this. He knew the sound that was issuing from his own lips wasn’t right, wasn’t ‘heavenly’ enough, but he just couldn’t help it. 

His back felt as though it were on fire, literally aflame. 

And Dean Winchester wasn’t helping. 

When Castiel, Angel of the Lord, materialised in the bunker on his knees, bloody and beaten almost beyond recognition, all he felt were the hands. Hands on him, holding him, trying to pull him upright. Then, quickly realising that standing wasn’t going to be an option, those same hands lifted him and carried him through the safe corridors. 

It was when the hands tried to push him back to lie on a bed that he made the sound. The whimper. The first sound he had made since his sudden arrival. 

“Cas?” Dean’s usually gruff voice sounded hesitant, unsure.

Somehow Castiel dredged up the strength to utter a bit more of a sound that would make sense to his friends. 

“My back,” he whispered. “My… wings.”

“Roll him over,” urged Sam, understanding the problem a little quicker than his brother. “Here, use more pillows.”

The hands turned him with infinite care and pillows were used to prop him up so that the weight came off his wings until, at last, he was able to breathe again.

As Sam grabbed the ever present first aid kit and started to work on Castiel’s wounds Dean sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to get in the way but needing to see how bad things really were. 

Sam dabbed TCP on one particularly nasty cut. “Cas, can’t you heal these?” he asked, as he worked.

Castiel shook his head, choking back bile. 

“Maybe he used all his juice to get here,” suggested Dean.

Sam replied but Castiel didn’t really hear it. 

As the two brothers did their best to make him comfortable, stitch him up, heal him, Castiel closed his eyes and counted himself very lucky indeed that he had found a home to come to. 

This home. 

His to keep.

Because family, real family, don’t care if you whimper. They just want to make you whole again. 

And Castiel had found his family.


End file.
